The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Glebe 1914/09 (Vol. 2, No. 2): Poems This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The Glebe 1914/09 (Vol. 2, No. 2): Poems Author: George W. Cronyn Editor: Alfred Kreymborg Man Ray Release date: October 7, 2020 [eBook #63399] Language: English Credits: Produced by Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from images made available by the Blue Mountain Project, Princeton University. *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLEBE 1914/09 (VOL. 2, NO. 2): POEMS *** Produced by Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from images made available by the Blue Mountain Project, Princeton University. THE GLEBE VOLUME 2 NUMBER 2 SEPTEMBER 1914 SUBSCRIPTION Three Dollars Yearly THIS ISSUE 50 CENTS POEMS George Cronyn The only editorial policy of THE GLEBE is that embodied in its declaration of absolute freedom of expression, which makes for a range broad enough to include every temperament from the most radical to the most conservative, the only requisite being that the work should have unmistakable merit. Each issue will be devoted exclusively to one individual, thereby giving him an opportunity to present his work in sufficient bulk to make it possible for the reader to obtain a much more comprehensive grasp of his personality than is afforded him in the restricted spaces allotted by the other magazines. Published monthly, THE GLEBE will issue twelve books per year, chosen on their merits alone, since the subscription list does away with the need of catering to the popular demand that confronts every publisher. Thus, THE GLEBE can promise the best work of American and foreign authors, known and unknown. The price of each issue of THE GLEBE will be fifty cents and the yearly subscription three dollars. Editor ALFRED KREYMBORG Published by ALBERT AND CHARLES BONI 96 FIFTH AVENUE New York City POEMS POEMS GEORGE W. CRONYN NEW YORK ALBERT AND CHARLES BONI 96 FIFTH AVENUE 1914 Copyright, 1914 By Albert and Charles Boni To touch the sleeping lids of Beauty Drawing thru finger-tips her dream--a birth Of hell and heaven for a nobler earth; This is the poet's duty. To sleep with stars, to dream a flower, From passing shadows pluck profound relation, With a divine wonder at its emanation; This is the poet's power. DIONYSUS ELEUTHERIOS THE PRAYER Like a cat beside a pool More than half afraid of it, Fishing gingerly I sit Here beside this pool of wit-- Dumb as any fool! Chirrups humor in the grass; Winds of tickling laughter pass, And the world grows wise forsooth, Lets gleam amused tooth Seeing in this water-glass Jests that swim the depths of truth, And like fins of fishes shiver It to fretful quirk and quiver. Ripples break and bubbles rise Catching smiles from out the skies In their globed eyes. Surely, surely there was never Such a pleasant river! Only I am out of tune Like an icicle in June, Or a monster from the moon. Dionysus, hear my prayer! Spreading arms to the mute air, I entreat thee, fashion me One with this gay company, One in mirth and one in song Dartling their minds among. Loosener of lips and heart, Draw my sullen mouth apart. Give a gleam to guide me by As a phare in a night-sky-- Grace of tongue and warmth of eye; Give me of thy fire and dew; Give me flash of mimic art-- Spice of Godhead in this brew To pierce my fellows thru and thru. Oh, thou vintal Deity, Loose my limbs that they may fly With this reckless revelry! Sick of sober ways am I; In this tumult I alone Am a satyr turned to stone; Satyr--satyr--not a man! Gifts I ask not of Apollo-- Wine is good and grief is hollow; I would follow after Pan; I would follow, follow, follow After Pan! Or if he wander ways too quiet, Shepherd ways of warmth and ease, Let me taste a wilder riot In thy mysteries-- Let me quaff it, laugh it, cry it! Give me, give me, give me these-- Fleet foot after those that flee, Hot veins amorous to seize Maenads maddened by the wine, Wound with hair and wreathed with vine, Maenads stained with purple lees-- Give me, give me, give me these. Only this I ask of thee Dionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele! THE ANSWER Lo! the God of purple pleasure Heard and hearkened to his prayer, Reft the swathed bands that bound him, From his cloak of Self unwound him, Filled him with supernal seizure That his humor's jewelled treasure Leaped and sparkled in the air-- Till the night was bright around him. Never such a jestful fit Dreamt he in his wildest wishes! Never from the pool of wit Had he drawn such shining fishes! Humid flame glowed in each eye And his face had changed its vesture, And his arms moved with strange gesture Apt in every mimicry. With the spell of Fire and Dew He pierced his fellows thru and thru. Surely Dithyrambus pressed him! Surely the Great God possessed him! And the mystic sisters too, Oeno, Spermo, and Elais, (Who knoweth what their way is?) Surely they caressed him! He whose tongue of old was frozen-- As he quaffs, with this potation Deep and deeper inspiration Seems to grow a Prophet--chosen, For he speaks by divination! Never were such fancies woven From the carded thoughts of mortal. Some are mazed, and some deride him, "Lo, his wits have gone astray, What a fool he is!" they say. Others whisper (those beside him) "He hath crossed another portal-- He is one whose foot is cloven. Do ye hear wild creatures beat Lifted hoof and naked feet On the quiet woodland sod? Do ye mark what mood that strain is? Hints it not the Shepherd God With his pipings shrill and sweet-- Snubnose, Sweetwine, old Silenus, All his creatures shy and fleet?" Deeper, deeper, Fire and Dew Drains he of the Wine-God's brew Craving furthest essence--thus Heareth now another voice Terrible and new, Luring--appalling, "Iachus! Iachus! Iachus! Wine! Wine! Wine! Rejoice!" Thru the forest calling. And the sky is red and golden And the red, red stars are falling, Falling to the earth in showers. And the fresh blood-scents embolden Gold and sable leopards, sleeping, To come crawling, writhing, leaping, Over gold and purple flowers. And the autumn sun is swollen With the sweetness he has stolen From the wine, and he is wine, wine-red. Come ye now with wreathed head, Come ye now With ivy bound on your white brow, And forgotten, forgotten be the hours! Forgotten and forgotten! Ah the night has fled away, And the wine is spilt, and the stars are gray, For the old cold dawn abashes All the torches turned to ashes, But the feasters--where are they? Fled, the sound of pipes at last; Fled, the panting, goat-shank'd clan, And the maenad rout have passed, And the echoes caught and cast Died where they began. Never, never, never A more sombre river From such springs of laughter ran! And the lucid pool of wit-- What a scum has clouded it! Past each stately Parian column Day comes, gaunt and pale and shrunken And her step is very solemn. On the veined marble sunken, Reft of breath of Deity, Prone there, lies the Priest--the Chosen, Huddled, bestial, bleared and drunken-- Like a body that is frozen (That such things should be!) Shape of shapeless mockery He had tasted all one can; He had heard the pipes of Pan; He had followed in thy van Dionysus, Dionysus, son of Semele-- Satyr?--not a satyr he--a man! THE TRAIL BY NIGHT No human foot-print here before my own! And it is strange to come so far--alone-- So far into this frozen forest world Of moonlight and of shadow and deep snow, And things I do not know, That strike the civil vestments from my soul-- As if all law-born years were backward hurled Toward some dim and other pole-- Some brute primordial reign Whose voice was terror and whose life was pain. On--up the trail I go; Beneath my feet cold streams of moonlight glow, And in the silver-sifted dark strange, naked fancies grow, While the vast pines in vista, round by round, Move with an unearthly sound, And every tree with its white hair is crowned. On--up--I go, And as thru ancient Gothic arches seen I glimpse the valley far below That glistens with a fine fantastic sheen. On--up--I pass, Nor reck the night-wrought spells about me thrown, Heedless--sucked dry of thought or will Save to peer curious into this magician's glass, And see the forest dreams thru forest moonlight blown. On--up I plunge--until Bending, discern before me, with a thrill The signs where some wild beast has gone. Who knows but that within the silence here The cedar shadows gloom about a deer, That stands with body lithe and slim Struck to a statue by surprise? Who knows but that, upon some snowy limb A lynx, lean-bellied, pricks his tufted ear And watches me with evil, amber eyes? * * * * * Surely beyond the stars my man-world lies-- For close to me unhallowed mountains rise And fill my heart with fear! SONG IN WINTER Burning stars in a frosty sky, Thread-bare winds from the hollow west, "Give us a garment of beauty!" they cry, "For the waters of truth our throats are dry, And phantoms of chaos uncover the bones of our breast, Leaving us little rest." Bitter stars in a frozen sky, Tattered winds from the lonely west, Haggard beggars of hours that die-- (Begging the gift of a golden lie!) Is it with you as with us, no rest, no rest-- Is it with you no rest? The lacy chequer of aerial boughs That winter weaves with delicate wizardry. * * * * * Far away--who knows how far?-- Against the flaming calm of winter twilight, I hear the voice of speed--muffled and hoarse, Sounding across the hills. * * * * * Locomotive, locomotive, Over the hills at night, Running on your far-away groove With the husky pant of things that move And cannot turn to left or right, Of things that toil and things that pass In the murk of smoke and the stench of gas, Serf of the monstrous city, What pity--oh what pity For the dearth of your delight, Locomotive, locomotive, Over the hills at night! CLOUDS Whence do you come, oh silken shapes, Across the silver sky? We come from where the wind blows And the young stars die. Why do you move so fast, so fast Across the white moon's breast? The cruel wind is at our heels And we may not rest. Are you not weary, fleeing shapes, That never cease to flee? The forkéd trees' chained shadows are Less weary than we. Whither do you go, O shadow-shapes Across the ghastly sky? We go to where the wind blows And the old stars die. My head is circl'd with fire-- And I think of the failing of one's desire-- And I hear outside the pitiful dropping of rain; Which is the greater pain? I yearn for the birth of the brain-- Be it child of blood and pain, (I pray to endure the pain)-- My heart--lo! my heart is afire With hue as of purple or Tyre-- With hope of Promethean fire-- And oh God! God! God! the desire For what only the Gods attain! In the white moonlight stand With every finger on a star, and feel Infinity as an engulfing wave. JOY The cañons are covered with snow, But the sky doth over them lean With eyes that are warm and keen As if he could never know The gray despair of the snow; And snow and sky join hands together To dance a dance of wonderful weather! A VOICE A woman spoke to me in the street-- I do not remember how or why-- But a breath blew over the winter sky And spring came in with silver feet! ANOTHER A creature plucked at me in the street But well I knew the reason why The red stars sickened in the sky And Hell gaped open at my feet! IMPRESSIONS This is the Gate of the Gray City--wrought With piled roofs and steeples dimly seen Thru the gray dusk--pale, wistful flakes of fire Kindled about its lower fringe--vast murk-- A snuffling monster with an evil eye That surly pants to work some will unknown, Blowing white breaths--a semaphore With lifted arm--a form that swings a light In arcs, against infinitude of gray, Uneasy sounds, the clink and clank and groan; Of things inanimate--the curves of rails In rhythmical convergence gathered up-- (And gathering up what burdens from afar!) Monotony--monotony--despair! This is the Gate of the Gray City. Whatever our immitigable end, The earth's our home and prison thru whose windows Our wistful scrutinizing minds traverse The sky's dissolving continents, exult In melancholy mountains or, shackled, Envy the inconstant sea that seems An uncontaminated god, alone, complete In mighty passion and the scorn of time. * * * * * I love the skyward-spiring tree For its supreme unconsciousness of me. So let us seek the lands that the Gods love, The soil unsown, the isles of sumptuous store; Where fallow fields yield yearly fee of grain, And vines unpruned produce perennial bloom, And olive slips engender faithfully, And dark figs deck their trees; the cavernous oaks Bleed honey'd drops, and from high hills descend The nimble waters with melodious feet. PRELUDE TO A PHANTASY I will tell thee of Far-Away, of Far-Away, of Far-Away, I will tell thee of Far-Away The home of wandering dreams; For they come out of Far-Away To show us how to love and play, And when they've wandered for a day Must return, it seems. There's more than gold in Far-Away, in Far-Away, in Far-Away, There's more than gold in Far-Away, There's more than jewelled gleams. There's more than smiles in Far-Away, And coronals of laughter gay; There's crystal tears that bloom alway Beside forgotten streams. We'll gather gold from Far-Away, from Far-Away, from Far-Away, We'll gather gold from Far-Away, We'll steal the jewelled gleams. We'll hunt for smiles from Far-Away; Following laughter by the way, But we must for another day Leave the tears it seems. We'll find the road to Far-Away, to Far-Away, to Far-Away, We'll know the road to Far-Away By the feet of dreams; For they come out of Far-Away To love a little and to play, And when they've wandered for a day Must return it seems. RUNNING WATER Oh you who stand by the river in a gown of willow-green, I will make you an eager song of my heart to-night; I will find me a feather of a singing bird that has seen And touched the blue targe of the sky in its flight. I will make me a quill of it, and dip in my heart and write! I would not make you a threnody of sorrow that has been, For you are no more than an eager child who demand Magical tales of me, of lacquered Arabian sheen; I will speak very softly then with your hand In mine, a rose petal, the things that you understand. On the waxen and beautiful tablet that is your heart With a singing quill and the stain of my heart I will write; I will write with the simplest words and the simplest art All the splendors that glow so by night-- Of the Genie and the Bottle, and carpets of orient flight. And you who are more than a princess in your gown of yellow-green With your bird-like and trembling heart will understand All the luxurious sorrows and loves that have been Written on parchment at a king's demand-- And the simple words of them will flutter like birds in your hand. EPITHALAMION The pale dawn went down unto the sea, Past the gray ships in the offing. The salt wind found her blowing hair And closed his wings and nested there, And the salt sea hungered for her rare Sweet body and forgot his scoffing. The pale dawn went down unto the sea When all the world was sleeping; She lifted veils and veils of air Until her eager limbs were bare, And the salt sea shook his manéd hair, And the curl'd waves came to her, leaping. MARSH-LANDS Sure in this spongy and luxuriant retreat-- This lovely lyric little marsh Which nothing hath of fierce or harsh, Unhappy fancies to evoke, Where all life is most delicately attuned to sweet Melodious living, here we'll meet Naiads dainty and discreet With other watery folk And watch the twinkle of their iridescent feet. Upon a reed's high silver point Which early dews anoint, The Red-wing lights and poises, swaying, With throaty and delicious whistle playing Pan-music in the mellow morning light. It is like running water's flow A bit unearthly, and celestial quite-- A golden tremolo; And satin robes of air half veil him from our sight. The gay marsh-marigold Delights its small sun to unfold; And many a bulbous goblin thing, Ugly and grave, Into the dull mud burrowing Draws from some secret treasure-cave And to the sunlight heaves Green breadth--great leaves To build a vessel floating on an inland wave. We'll be as busy as the clouds, with naught to do, And we will wonder at the curious striping, In saffron glimpses, of more distant pools Which the wind cools With deep reflected blue. And we will listen now to Hyla's piping-- A thin small sprite That one may never see Calling to the sky his clear delight Filled with insatiate and unbounded ecstasy. SPRING FANCY There is an orchard, old and rare, (I cannot tell you where!) With green doors opening to the sun; And the sky-children gather there To watch the blossoms, one by one, Falling wistfully thru the air From the trees' dishevelled hair. The sky-children shake their wings With flutterings and gurglings-- And love the light and kiss the sun, Nor heed the blossoms that have blown From the fruit-wives' ancient hair Earthward thru the glowing air, Wistfully--one by one. SONG A Flicker, a Robin, a Song-sparrow Have come from Arcady. The Flicker was an imp that shouted in a tree; The Robin was a winged laugh that Spring set free; The Song-sparrow was a liquid arrow That pierced to the heart of me. PLAYING Three little girls and one little boy Out in the first warm sunshine; The wind blows in and the wind blows out Voices cool as moonshine. Six tin cans and a pile of dirt And the air smiles like a mother-- The wind blows in and the wind blows out As they play with each other. Sparrows on the fence and clothes on the line And somewhere someone's laughter-- The wind blows in and the wind blows out And it could not blow much softer! Three little girls and one little boy Out in the first warm weather-- The wind blows in and the wind blows out While they play together. SONG Hi! hi! hi! On this green morning My soul is as taut as a greenwood-bow, Feeling the sap in it mounting so, Needs but a jog to loose without warning An arrow into the infinite sky-- Hi! hi! hi! On this green morning! A BUST BY RODIN, KNOWN AS CERES With rhythmic feet and garments flowing free Draw near, draw near, bring largesse in full hand; Move as to music of the saraband Stately, before this Woman-deity. Woman's--these billows of thick hair that roll Down the billowing breasts of her, and close Shadows of pain and mirth in firm repose-- This delicate mask drawn tight across a soul! A Goddess--Ultima Thule in her eye; For the sad wisdom of its steady gaze, Fixed on far, wintry fields and frozen ways, Goes out to larger things than you or I: The Titan-sap makes gods of the spring hours, And Earth renews its children and its flowers! THE FLOWER'S WAY I have stood long in the night Under a star; I have stood still with shadowy head And arrowy leaves outspread Under its trembling light Where green things are. I have crept close to the grass Where the beetles dart, And the humming-bird and the dragon-fly Were visions in the sky, And the mendicant bees that pass Rifled my heart. I have lain long in the day Under the sun, With my burning face in the arms of the wind, And my petals unconfin'd And my virginal robes a-sway-- Thus joy is won! THE TREE'S WAY The high trees are honest folk; They do not stand so much aloof Up under heaven's roof, Altho they are earth's fairest cloak. Their lives are very calm and slow; They wait for coming things to come, They wait, they rest, they ponder some Purpose forgotten long ago Like quiet folk; And sometimes I am moved to stroke Hand-greeting as I pass them near, And often I am sure I hear An answer from these stately folk! CHILDREN What a garden of surprise Out beyond my window lies! Fancy, when the night is there Gentle trees with drooping hair Rocking, rocking cradle-wise Little stars with yellow eyes! VERSES TO A LITTLE CHILD (From Hofmannsthal) Your feet have been fashioned as roses To seek the lands of the rainbow-- The rainbow-kingdoms are open. There, haunting the taciturn tree-tops Millennial prophecies linger, The inexhaustible waters Abide there forever and aye. Beside the immeasurable forest From wooden bowl brimming will you then Apportion your milk with a hop-toad? So festive a banqueting almost Entices the stars to their fall! By borders of measureless waters Soon you will discover a playmate, A dolphin engaging and kind. He'll leap to dry-land at your bidding, And if he shall fail you sometimes The tender, innumerable zephyrs Will still your tempestuous sobbing. You'll find in the rainbow-kingdom The ancient exalted traditions Forever and ever unchanged. The sun with mysterious power Has fashioned your feet as the roses To enter his measureless kingdom. NIGHT-FLOWERS This night hath no disease; It knows not wrecks nor wars Nor deaths of human minds. The feet of the sweet winds Break all the river's peace Into marmoreal bars. The tops of moonlit trees Have blossomed with white stars, And perfumes that one finds In old Arabian jars Had never blooms like these! THE NIGHT Sorrows confide their secrets; joys lead lives Of lonely splendor. Mankind tells all things To me, knowing I will not ever speak. DISILLUSION The night was like a jewell'd crown-- (Could jewels be so soft a thing!) For stars and wind were in the town And by the highways entering, Plucked there as on a viol string, Until--somewhere--a woman's scream-- Sharply shattered the dream! Silence within The upper twilight of a temple lies Asleep, with pendant plumes--a dreaming god-- And dreams the pageantry of things--and dreams The gifts that he has given with his hands-- The gifts that he has taken with his hands-- And dreams his own eternity. * * * * * I am one that loves The stars of labyrinthine night whom the shrill dawn Devours, the quietude of ultimate slopes Thoughtful of twilight, peering moons that shed Unrisen glamours thru the umbrageous wood With gnome and goblin rife, and the light spray Of gray spring rains enveloping the hills. SONG Would I were a bird To nest in a cover Of leaves that hover 'Twixt earth and heaven Where no sound is heard-- Only the uneven Brush of winds that slumber With no thought to cumber; Would I were a bird! Would I were a wave To rise for a moment From the ocean's foment, To puff my lips asunder Blowing bubbles brave, To dream and to wonder Of the depths below me And the winds that blow me-- Would I were a wave! Bird, canst thou fashion Song of things that grieve thee? Wave hast thou passion For things that will deceive thee? Bird and wave I leave ye! RONDEAU A Sunday-calm, ornate, profound, Enchanting sense, subduing sound, Enjoins its ritual to prepare; The day is bland with unctuous prayer That leaps to heaven at a bound. And bells ope throats in mellow round Of sweet antiphonal resound, And virtue glistens everywhere-- A Sunday-calm. Draw breath! Away to virgin ground! But where the fields are flower-crowned The cattle with self-conscious stare Chide my undeprecative air,-- Good heavens! Can they too have found A Sunday-calm? SUNSET BURIAL The trees upheaven filigrane fingers of desire To touch a ruby-throated cloud-face fanned By a bronze breath and globous mouth of fire; Beneath, the rigid gravestones stand, Each one a cadaver that cannot close its hand. FAIRY SONG I can live in a golden fruit Whose core is hung with honey; I can swing on golden wing In elfin ceremony-- But oh! for the power To open as a flower When the air is sunny! A YOUNG GIRL'S LOVE The season is less stubborn now; Over the youngling world we see A white sky full of scudding blue, A white wind that runneth as a child Touching most delicately the new Sweet buds, and having touched and smiled, Goes to seek out some pale anemone, And wreathe with maiden flowers her fragile brow. A YOUNG MAN'S LOVE If I were your sister I'd lie with you the night-long To feel your bosom's beating; If I were your brother I'd wake you with a day-song And give a kiss as greeting; If I were your mother I'd hold you as a shut flower When the dark comes creeping; If I were your father I'd enter at the dawn-hour To look upon you, sleeping. What is there left over For me, who am your lover? SONG A cup full of star-shine That glowed as an ember, (Oh, star of my delight!) With smiles I do remember And words forgotten quite, A cup full of star-shine I drank with you to-night. A cup full of sea-sound That was as summer thunder-- (Oh sea of my delight!) With love that lay under Seven heavens bright, A cup full of sea-sound I drank with you to-night. SONG (_After an old English tune_) I will bring thee a silver crown. I will bring thee an ell of vair, Cloth of gold and ermine rare To make thee a gown. Thou hast brought me a marble frown. Thou hast brought me a cold, cold stare, Heart of lead and wry despair, And a mad-man's swown. I will bring thee a leaden crown, Cloth of Raines in thirty-fold! I will bring thee a bed on the wold To lay thee down. Thou hast brought me out of the town To the earth upturned where the bell is tolled-- Fires of hell and the river's cold My sorrows drown! TRISTAN AND ISOLDE The sea is here, it hath not any shore, Nor moves with moving of wind-driven waves Which, undulant and writhing--naked slaves To the uneasy wanderer of heaven's floor, Bow sullen backs beneath their master's store He brought with viewless hands from broken graves-- The sea is here, and in its silent caves Moves not, tho the wind clamors more and more. The sea is here, an infinite undertone; But lo! upon its surface I descry Two floating bubbles, wonderfully blown Toward each other, flame-like from the sky-- Meet--melt with lyric splendor into one-- Then, wind-prick'd, vanish--o'er the Sea, a cry! PALINURUS Starlight: with deep and quiet breathing slept The southern sea. The white-wing'd ship that bore The good Aeneas from his Dido's shore Ghostlike, with rippling furrows, onward crept, And only faithful Palinurus kept The midnight watch--but ah, the magic bough, The opiate dew that dript upon his brow, The vacant post, the friends who waking wept. The gods demand their victims; who shall know What failures Time and Circumstance compel? Yet, if such doom were mine, I would 'twere so That they would mark my absence thus: "How well Even unto the last he struggled, lo! He tore the rudder with him when he fell!" THE DERELICT I cannot remember whither I was bound-- I cannot remember why I was found Moving without a sound Moving in mystery-- Derelict, derelict, Over the sea! I too carry a cargo in my hold, Underneath sea-water and green with mold-- I cannot remember how old! For terrible it is to be Derelict, derelict, Over the sea! Feebler ships weather bravely into port; Running a course that is safe and short-- My voyage is another sort; No master guideth me-- Derelict, derelict, Over the sea! Nights have shadow'd me with phantom stride-- Stars have peer'd at me, eerie-eyed-- Goblin lights and magic tide Keep me company, Derelict, derelict, Over the sea! Setting suns have rowell'd me with crimson'd heel-- Winds have flung laughter, peal after peal-- But they shall not know that I feel Mute in my agony-- Derelict, derelict, Over the sea! Rudderless, by ways uncharted blown-- Some day shall waken to find me gone-- What matter? I have drifted alone Ever--alone--yet free-- Derelict, derelict, Over the sea! THE SQUIRE OF DAMES TO HIS LADY Why should our meeting borrow A sense of shame or sorrow That each must go his way? Love liketh no fetter Therefore our roads were better If you go yours to-morrow, And I go mine to-day. I hold you for a minute-- You'd catch the hour and pin it-- But if I held you longer Would you have more assurance In days of richer durance, Life with more rapture in it, Passion more wise and stronger? The Daughter of Illusion Hath made our love seem fusion Of two strange things in one-- But loving hath not taught her That strange as fire to water, Love becomes bleak intrusion When all the glamor's gone. You say I've brought you sorrow And pay not debts I borrow-- But mirth is what's to pay! So part our paths in laughter, And, since your heart is softer, You go your way to-morrow-- And I'll go mine to-day. GAS-LIGHT HEROICS With this night's carousal We will close the portal On our poor espousal-- Sacrament and housel For a love too mortal! With this gay delaying We'll delay yet longer-- Care not what the saying Of the World--that braying Evil tattle-monger! Pleasure has as thunder Scorched and jangled thru me; Now I'll sit and wonder At the day-star yonder And your face, grown gloomy. You are known as "Lily" And they mock your gender; Is it but a silly Fancy, you seem stilly Lily-souled and tender? Underneath the bitter Mockery of color, Underneath the titter Is there something fitter? Something finer, fuller? Something (can I hear it In your secret eyes?) When I come too near it Like a frightened spirit Running from the skies? Girl, you know that glow meant Dawn's thin lips of scarlet-- Bubble of life's foment Stay your soul a moment! * * * * * Bah! You're drunk, you harlot! MISTS I I am most weary of this fatuous me That doth obtrude a niddering death's head At a blithe feast of Springtide jollity, Of revelling buds and flowers unsurfeited. I am most weary of this chained thought That hath forgotten where its mansions are-- And lost the dew its seven-spher'd courses caught Wandering in plunged dark from star to star. I am most weary of my stagnant soul That neither thirsts, nor hungers, nor is stirred By the gigantic thunders that have rolled From the white, hurtling lightning of a word. I am most weary, love; so let thy face-- The sponge that sops my gaze, myself erase. II Oft in the groping night I am afraid, For this, mine opaque organism, seems A glass, a mere reflex of trooping dreams-- A polished boss where images parade. And to see these doth make my senses cold-- This globe become a visionary face-- This little spinning soul of me--in space-- I dare not think of what that space may hold! Such thoughts are as the charnel mists that rise From feverish and mortuary ground Thru which one sees the country all around-- Yet near, the dead--and far away, the skies. But at the thought of you my life expands Until it holds all life within its hands! SCEPTIC I This hour has shut us like a tent From all but night; we two, alone, So close, so poignantly alert, have grown, That trivial speech, from silence rent, Breaks off--a useless instrument. For all the opening world is ours, And you, tho scarce a woman yet, Your eyes with feasts of lights and vintage set, Hold all the dewy wealth of flowers, And gold of Babylonian towers. Our lives will alter if we move-- It were so easy now to rise And tell my unimpassioned soul it lies-- And claim youth's heritage of love, Let bald life prove what it may prove! It were so easy to conceive Your lack my lack would compensate-- And by one stroke undo the knot of fate; It were so easy to believe The lies that such a thing could weave! Or shall I stumble through the night Biting my lips to hold the tears Because your incommunicable years Must spend their summer of delight Without my reach--beyond my sight? The house is still; the midnight seems Inscrutable--no answer there. Oh God!--to break this tension of despair. Between us the calm lamplight streams-- "Good night!" and "Pleasant dreams!"--yes--dreams. II I would I had lain with my love to-night; Her eyes trembled for her body said, "I have smoothed a pillow and made a bed"-- But I smiled against it And turned away my head To come into the cold starlight. I would I had lain with my love to-night, For I know how flowers are shed, And the cynical scintillant stars are dead-- Dead, dead utterly! Yet I turned away my head To come into the cold starlight. I would I had lain with my love to-night! Oh, indolent Gods, we too can tread On the silent spirits, the uncomforted! She did not reproach me, Tho I turned away my head And came into the starlight. III Love (as a cloud on the sea Hung between poles of blue) Hangs in the heart of me Between the eyes of you. Love, as a cloud on the sea, Claims the tears of two. Love (as a wind in a tree Shaking its tower of green) Shakes all the heart of me And leaves no peace between. Love, as the wind the tree Tears with hands unseen. Love (as a storm on the sea Shatters the sleep of the wave) Shatters the heart of me With desires that grope and crave. Love, as the storm the sea, Boasts not me his slave. IV You, flower-named, and as a flower arrayed, Open to all the wandering airs that pass, Opened to me--yet I drew back afraid, Craven to the blood that would have preyed And the sly viper coiling in the grass. V Love, when you smiled and beckoned My cold thought stood aloof and reckoned Some heights above you. But now you have turned and gone Smiling, fugitive as dawn, I know (oh fool!) I love you. VI Love, with her queen's face and child lips Walked at my side; her hair about her head Streamed, with riotous and exuberant spread Like sails and cordage of sea-breasting ships, And as the tides, her mirthful glints and dips Tugged at my anchor'd calmness--then she said, Chilling to gravity, "You are lead." It was as when the bright blade cruelly slips, For in my soul that hid its vain desires Under closed hatch, I knew the stifled fires Devoured in silence, as stealthy serpents writhe Their folds about their prey; and seemed to hear The passing of some irrevocable year, And faint for whistle of a monstrous scythe. VII Pain of widest range-- The intimate grown strange. ARMA VIRUMQUE CANO And so the good Aeneas went away. It was not dawn, and yet the sleepless sea Felt as a mother, the still unborn day. The stars were brighter than they ought to be. A milky foam curled from the vessel's breast Whose long blades lifted to each lifting crest. Happy were the sailors to be aboard once more, And the laughing sea answered to their shouts afar off shore. Dido the Queen Knew he was gone. No need to have seen From the casement withdrawn; No need to be told; Her heart had guessed By the aching unrest And empty breast-- Empty and cold. Oh, plain her Maidens at their spinning, Love has end that had beginning. As the course was traced Aeneas paced, His thoughts uprising like a flock of birds; And one flew west, to the new the unknown nest, And one that was wing'd with flaming words-- Something the Queen had uttered, tender--sweet,-- Fluttered back and died--just at her feet. Ho! chants a Rower, straining at the sweep, Leave the landsman to his pillow, the sailor to the deep. All night the Queen In fever burned; A dream returned Long ago seen: A dream of ships, Of one who came Out of a flame And cried her name And kissed her lips. Somewhere in the dawn Someone's singing: "Lo! what gifts love's hands are bringing!" Jet-black, the palms like sculptured fountains loomed Above the lovers; one star blazed all night. Beyond the river was the sea that boomed. Their barge was lit with lightnings of delight. Of this, the good Aeneas too had dreamed While the unshaken towers of Ilium gleamed. Ah! cry the sailors, "whom we loved must wait. There's no turning back from the open track to the gates of fate." The cicadas drone; Desert winds blow As oarsmen row Their Queen alone Down the river. Alone, she cried Alone! to the tide. And the sea replied Forever! La, croon the Women, nimbly weaving, "Whose heart do we hear grieving?" Months bring all wanderings to a close. The fleet years flee; Aeneas wisely wed, Often, when wind and sea strike mighty blows, Wakening from dreams half ecstasy, half dread, That come upon him from another life, Touches the calm breast of his sleeping wife. Hum, the Night Watch mutters, leaning on his spear, "'Tis a strange world to be in and to have no fear." The sea at last Brings pain to end. The desert vast Becomes her friend. Her people fear it: "The Queen," they say, "Grows day by day Paler, but still gay-- As a spirit." Oh, they murmur, "Queen Dido goes away To where the dark river runs, sunless and gray." A HYMN TO DIONYSUS IN SPRING Yellow the sands of the shores of Elis, and over the creaming Foam-flakes that flutter and curl on the edge of the dreaming Mediterranean, Jupiter arches his azure dome. Here to the somnolent sands the Aeolian women have come, The dreamers, all languid with silence of spring-tide dreaming, And they stand with their hair unbound and their feet in the foam. The heart of the morning beats with a swooning, amorous beating, And the nymph-cool waters and brazen sunshine meeting, Mingle where indolent spring-tide ripples shimmer and burn; Out to the dim horizon the eyes of the dreamers yearn, And like flutes are the low, soft voices that chant thus, entreating The God, Dionysus, to rise from the sea and return. "Bitter thy roving hath been, O Hunter, and stricken with madness, And thy winter frenzy hath torn us with torment of sadness-- Horror of blood in the mouth and of murderous lusts that bring Shadows a-couch in the forest from under us shuddering. We are sick of the feverish nights that have stolen our gladness-- Ah! we are weary of winter and fain of the Spring!" "Thy foes, O Hunter, have goaded thy soul, but their goading is over, For every unfolding leaf is a shield for thy cover And every grass-blade upraises a spear that is scimitar-keen, Gladly the flowers will weave thee a mantle to wander unseen. Slim as a willow-wand, Ariadne awaits thee, her lover, And her heart is full of the dreams that are cool and green." "Hyé, the Dew, thy mother, sorrows because of thy going, And the film-pale, rain-sweet Hyades fleeing and flowing, Dissolved from the rainbow and river to rise in the sap of the tree, Leave never their dolorous grieving, lamenting in quest of thee. And the succulent vine and the spirit of all things growing Cry 'Dionysus, return! Oh, return from the sea!'" "Wilt thou forsake us forever, unheeding our sedulous plaining? See'st not the clusters of pale green globes, crescent and straining Sunwards, that long for thy hand to engarb them with royal attire? Hear us, O Wine-God; return to us! Kindle once more Desire!" So chant the Aeolian women till the light be waning While the foam breaks over their feet in soft folds of fire. The robes of the sun are red, and close to the earth he dozes; The long day lingers, then slowly and silently closes The shadowy orient gates, climbing upward stair by stair, Raising her evening face to the stars in the spring-tide air. Lo! the sea is aglow and aflame with the odor of roses! Lo! a glimpse of the God with the sun in his yellow hair! Recent Publications Price Post Love of One's Neighbor--Leonid Andreyev Boards .40 .05 A satirical comedy by the greatest of the modern Russians. Mariana--José Echegaray Cloth .75 .10 The masterpiece of modern Spain's greatest writer. Chants Communal--Horace Traubel Boards 1.00 .10 Inspirational prose pieces. Paper .25 .05 Collects--Horace Traubel Cloth 1.00 .10 Jack London says: "His is the vision of the Paper .50 Paid poet and the voice of the poet." Horace Traubel--Mildred Bain Boards .50 .05 Not Guilty--Robert Blatchford Cloth .50 .10 A defence of the bottom-dog. Paper .25 .05 The Diary of a Suicide--Wallace Baker Cloth 1.00 .08 "The confession of a youth who was prematurely Paper .50 Paid tired." The Case of Mexico--De Zayas Cloth 1.35 0.10 Our Irrational Distribution of Wealth--Byron C. Cloth 1.00 .10 Mathews Des Imagistes--An Anthology Cloth 1.00 .07 "It sticks out of the crowd like a tall marble monument."--_The New Weekly._ The Thresher's Wife--Harry Kemp Boards .40 .05 A narrative poem of great strength and originality. An English Dante--John Pyne Boards 1.00 .07 A translation in the original rhythm and rhymes. Erna Vitek--Alfred Kreymborg Cloth 1.00 .10 A new form of the novel. A study of character solely by the narration of events. _Complete Catalog Ready July 30. Send For It._ ALBERT & CHARLES BONI 96 Fifth Avenue New York City POETRY A Magazine of Verse Edited by HARRIET MONROE 543 Cass Street, Chicago Established October, 1912, and endowed for an initial period of five years. POETRY publishes the finest work of living American and English poets, and especially forwards recognition of those younger poets whose acceptance might otherwise be retarded by a lack of adventurous appreciation. _Have You Read_ On Heaven, by Ford Madox Hueffer Chicago Poems, by Carl Sandburg Eros Turannos, by Edwin Arlington Robinson The Code--Heroics, by Robert Frost Nishikigi, by Ernest Fenellosa Running to Paradise, by W. B. Yeats Songs of Deliverance, by Orrick Johns A Woman and Her Dead Husband, by D. H. Lawrence Roumanian Poems, by Maurice Aisen The Fireman's Ball, by Nicholas Vachel Lindsay Narratives, by Rabindranath Tagore POETRY is published monthly Annual subscription $1.50. Single copies 15 cents Circular sent on request Sample copy on receipt of 15 cents The Little Review Lowers Its Price $1.50 a Year - 15 Cents a Copy THE LITTLE REVIEW _Literature_ _Drama_ _Music_ _Art_ MARGARET C. 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Hereafter all single copies will be 50 cents. The subscription price per year is $3.00. Transcriber's Notes The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors were silently corrected. All other changes are listed here (before/after): [p. 10]: ... Fled, the panting, goat-shankid clan, ... ... Fled, the panting, goat-shank'd clan, ... [p. 32]: ... The wind blows in and the wind blows out. ... ... The wind blows in and the wind blows out ... *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLEBE 1914/09 (VOL. 2, NO. 2): POEMS *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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